


Sick Day

by as_with_a_sunbeam



Category: 19th Century CE RPF, Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: 1803, F/M, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, New York City, Sickfic, Vomiting, upset stomach
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-10
Updated: 2017-03-11
Packaged: 2018-10-01 23:13:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10202981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/as_with_a_sunbeam/pseuds/as_with_a_sunbeam
Summary: When Eliza goes home to Albany to comfort her grieving father, she leaves Hamilton alone with their children. Which is fine, until Hamilton starts feeling sick. It's hard for a dad to take sick days.





	1. Chapter 1

The discomfort started around supper time. Several guests had stopped in around one o’clock that day, and Hamilton had ordered the roast lamb be prepared for dinner. The cook had done a spectacular job. He admitted to himself he may have had a helping too many as he ran a palm over the straining buttons of his waist coat. When he joined his children at the table for their light evening fare, he found he had no appetite at all.

His children started in on the food immediately, with the exception of Angelica, who sat staring at the dinner roll Hamilton had placed on her plate. Sadly, there was nothing unusual in that.

“Angelica,” he prompted softly. She looked up at him with bright, unfocused eyes. “Take a bite of the bread, my little Angel.” She followed his direction, just as she had when she was tiny child.

“Are you not eating, Papa?” Alex asked, eyeing his empty plate.

He smiled as he looked over at his sweet boy. “I find I’m not very hungry. I think I had a bit too much lamb at dinner. Not to worry,” he assured with a wink.

Alex smiled back as he took a healthy bite of left over potatoes.

“So, what have you all been up to, today?” he asked. The boys all began to chatter at once.

“I found a snake!” William exclaimed excitedly.

“I finished translating Achilles’ battle with Hector!” James announced with pride around a mouthful of bread.

“I recited my whole lesson without one mistake!” John added.

“I finally found the answer to the mathematics problem I’ve been working on.” Alex, at least, hadn’t shouted at him.

He fought down a smile and held a finger to his mouth. The room went silent. “One at a time, please. Alex, why don’t you go first.”

His namesake practically glowed with pride at being allowed to go first. Hamilton tried to give the boy his full attention, although he had to admit to peeking under the table while Alex was speaking. William’s exclamation definitely needed further investigation as soon as possible.

Supper passed pleasantly. Angelica finished her roll. Little Eliza even managed to get some food in her mouth rather than down her front, thanks to the help of her nurse sitting dutifully beside her. The boys shared the news of their days, and he’d made sure to add a reminder to William that snakes, like all other wildlife, lived outside. The boy gave him wide, innocent eyes and a solemn nod in response. For some reason, he still felt certain that at some point in the next few days, he’d hear a maid shrieking.

When he was standing from the table, his stomach gurgled ominously. The uncomfortably full feeling he’d had when he’d sat down was starting to turn into an upset stomach. He laid his palm discreetly against his middle again.

“No,” little Eliza said petulantly as her nurse attempted to clean sauce from her face.

He smiled at the girl, stepping closer to her chair and stooping down to scoop her up. She giggled as he lifted her, the sweetest sound in the world. Pressing a kiss against her round cherub cheek, he said, “You, my little darling, are quite a mess.”

“I’ll have her cleaned up before putting her to bed, sir,” the nurse assured him.

He nodded and smiled appreciatively at the young woman.

“Down, Papa,” his daughter demanded, capricious as ever.

He laughed. “Yes, all right,” he agreed, but not before kissing her other cheek for good measure. Once her feet touched the floor, she toddled off out of the room, following the path her siblings had all taken moments before. The nurse hurried after her.

A maid slipped into the dining room just as he was exiting, starting to clean up the food.

“Papa, will you tell a story?” William asked, already seated on the floor near the sofa in the parlor.

He looked into the room to see all his children had gathered there. James and Alex had settled at the table to deal cards. John had sat cross-legged before the fire place with some heavy volume in his lap. Angelica was sitting at the piano, studying a sheet of music. Only baby Betsey was missing, the nurse having successfully herded her upstairs to clean up and ready for bed.

He’d been hoping to have a soothing cup of tea and relax in the armchair in his office. Seeing the hopeful expressions on his children’s faces made it hard to refuse them, however. He missed Eliza in that moment. She was good a distracting the children when he wanted to slip away, usually to work. She was upstate visiting her father, trying to comfort him after the loss of her mother. Little Phil was too small to be away from her, but she’d left the other children in his care so she could focus on Philip Schuyler and her siblings in their time of shared grief.

“Yes, of course,” he agreed, sighing internally. “Just, give me a moment.”

He stepped back into the dining room where the young servant girl was piling plates to bring down to the kitchen. “Mary, would you mind bringing a cup of chamomile tea into the parlor for me, when you’ve finished in here?”

“Yes, sir, Mr. Hamilton,” she said quietly.

“Thank you.”

He stepped back into the parlor and settled onto the sofa beneath the portrait of General Washington. Leaning back against the silky green fabric, he adjusted and cleared his throat, willing his stomach to settle. William was looking up at him admiringly. He smiled and patted his knee in invitation. The five year old sprang up from the floor and clambered into his lap, leaning his weight against him heavily.

He patted the boy’s back and asked, “What sort of story would you like to hear?”

“One of your adventures from the war,” William said immediately.

Hamilton smiled a little. The boy never tired of hearing his war stories, heavily edited so as to be age appropriate, of course. “An adventure from the war?” he said thoughtfully, deciding which one to tell. “Have I told you about the time General Washington discovered General Arnold’s treason?”

He had, of course, many times over. It didn’t stop William from excitedly demanding, “Yes, that one. Tell that one!”

Hamilton pressed a kiss to the boy’s temple and began, “The Marquis de Lafayette and I were accompanying his Excellency on an inspection of the defenses at West Point.”

Washington was opening the infamous letter when Mary entered with his promised cup of tea. He paused to thank her and take a small sip, hoping the chamomile would ease the churning in his middle. He placed the cup back onto the tea tray Mary had left for him and cleared his throat again. “Where was I?”

“The letter!” William informed him helpfully.

“Ah, yes, General Washington opened the letter.” William laid his little head against his father’s chest as he listened to the unfolding tale of treasonous plots and distracted damsels.

He and Lafayette were galloping off after Arnold when William sat up again, pressing his tiny hand against Hamilton’s chest thoughtfully. “Papa, your tummy is growling,” the little boy observed. He eyed his father’s middle with his head tilted sideways. “It sounds like a monster.”

Hamilton let out a chuckle. “It feels a little like a monster,” he said wryly.

“Are you hungry, Papa?” James suggested, not looking up at him from his game of cards.

Alex, however, did look up. His eyes landed on his father’s tea cup and his brow wrinkled in concern, sensing something wrong.

“I’m all right,” he reassured Alex. “Just a touch of upset stomach.”

The admission caused the rest of his children to look over at him as well, each with matching expressions of concern. (Well, with the exception of William, who’d gone back to staring at his stomach with renewed interest, no doubt hoping to see a monster eating its way out of him.) What he’d done to be blessed with such sweet children was beyond him. Most likely, he was reaping the benefit of a reward intended for his beloved wife.

“I’m all right,” he reassured them all again, smiling sincerely. He tickled William in the armpit to distract him from his monster watching, receiving a squeal of laughter in response. “Now, do you want me to finish the story or not?”

“Yes, yes!” William giggled, squirming in his arms.

“Well, then, I rode faster than ever before. The Marquis was right beside me, tearing down the path we’d seen Arnold take not an hour passed.”

He finished the tale not long after. Taking advantage of the pause, he reached for his tea cup once more. A niggle of nausea was beginning high in his abdomen, creeping steadily up his throat. He forced it down with the hot drink.

“Tell another, Papa,” William requested. He was leaning against him again, his little eyelids just starting to droop as the clock inched closer to his bedtime.

Truth be told, he didn’t feel much like storytelling as the nausea began to swell within him once more. He closed his eyes in thought, then opened them to see John still reading near the fire. “Why don’t we have John read to us for a while instead? Or perhaps he could tell a story, since he’s becoming so adapt at recitation.”

John was startled out of his reading by the sound of his name. “Me?”

Hamilton nodded and patted the sofa seat beside him. “Come, tell me a story.”

John pushed his heavy book aside and made his way to the sofa slowly, looking nervous. He hesitated, then suggested timidly, “My tutor gave me a translation of part of the Odyssey to learn. I think I remember it. Would that be all right?”

“Yes, of course,” Hamilton assured him. He lifted his hand from William’s back to pat John’s shoulder encouragingly. “This isn’t a test, son. You don’t have to look so frightened.”

“Right,” John smiled sheepishly.

“What part will you be regaling is with, pray tell?”

“Um, the part with the Cyclops,” John replied.

“Excellent. Off you go,” Hamilton invited, laying his head back against the wall and closing his eyes to listen. As John spoke, William twisted in his lap to listen, apparently not having heard the story before. Seeing he’d caught his younger brother’s interest, John’s telling became a bit more lively, going so far as to make up a low gravely voice for the Cyclops.

Just as Odysseus was coming up with his clever plan, Hamilton felt his stomach lurch and his mouth filled with saliva. He shifted William and stood abruptly, causing John to stop his story and ask, “Papa?”

“Go ahead. I’m just going to step outside a moment for a breath of air.” He didn’t linger to see if John indeed continued the story. He hurried out of the door, down the steps, and swung around into the garden to double over behind the shrubbery and heave. After being sick several times, he felt his stomach turn again, this time with the urgency of loose bowels. He clutched at his belly and stumbled towards the privy, wondering what in the world had upset his stomach so badly.

The violent illness seemed to last forever. Finally, mercifully, he felt well enough again to clean up and go back inside. He felt weak and shivery as he stepped back into the foyer. His stomach still felt terribly unsettled. He leaned against the door for a moment, listening to John still speaking quietly. He’d been gone a little while at least, because it sounded like he’d moved on to Circe. Angelica appeared to have finished studying the sheet music and was now slowly picking notes out on the piano as well.

He pressed a hand to his temple and pushed away from the door to look into the parlor. The room went silent as the children spotted him. He forced a smile, though he was sure he looked a mess. “I’m afraid I’m feeling rather unwell,” he confessed. “Alex, would you please make sure everyone gets to bed? I think I’ll retire for the night.”

“Of course, Papa. Are…are you all right? Do you need anything?” Alex asked hesitantly, looking very concerned.

Hamilton shook his head. “No, just some rest, I think. I’m sure I’ll be better in the morning. Good night, my little lambs.”

A chorus of, “Good night, Papa,” followed him from the room.

He mounted the stairs slowly, praying that the worst was behind him. He peeked in on little Betsey, sleeping soundly, before closing himself into the master bedroom. He undressed carefully, folding the items to be put away and separating the ones in need of being laundered. His reflection caught his eye as he changed. His face was pale white and slightly pinched with pain, highlighting the growing lines around his mouth and eyes. He’d aged greatly in the last year. Turning away from the mirror, he slipped a night shirt over his head and fell gratefully into the bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just really seem to like beating Ham up lately. Eliza will appear, I promise.


	2. Chapter 2

He must have fallen asleep, because he woke to the unpleasant sensation of nausea some time later. Still lying on top of the blankets, he shivered with cold, and realized distantly that he likely had a fever. He sat up, feeling lightheaded and groggy, and stumbled towards the chamber pot, where he lost his stomach once more. After vomiting several more times, he felt his lower stomach cramping again.

He almost felt weak and terrible enough to use the chamber pot for that as well, but the thought of the smell lingering in his room was enough to force himself out of the room, down the stairs, and outside to the privy. When he came out again, the moon had already begun its descent in the sky. He pulled himself back upstairs and collapsed into bed once more. This time, he at least had the presence of mind to crawl in under the blankets.

The creaking of the door woke him the next time. Small feet pattered along the wooden floor and a little body pulled itself up into his bed. “Papa?”

He forced himself not to moan as he peeled his eyes open. William was sitting on his haunches, looking down at him. “What is it, baby?” His voice sounded hoarse and horrible.

“I had a bad dream,” the five year old confessed in a whisper.

Hamilton couldn’t stop the sigh from escaping his lips. His brave boy had been suffering from nightmares the past year or so. Ever since Pip. He didn’t let himself finish the thought. He couldn’t. He sensed the connection, however. William never articulated exactly what he dreamed about, but the first few times the nightmares had woken him, he’d babbled about loud noises and blood.

When Hamilton failed to say anything, William asked, “Can I sleep with you?”

“Of course, my sweet boy,” he whispered, pulling back the blanket so William could lie down beside him. He couldn’t very well refuse the boy because his stomach hurt. Dear lord, did his stomach hurt. Remembering his affliction seemed to make it grow worse, and he squeezed his eyes shut against the pain. He was already lying on his side, but he drew his knees up a little, hoping the change in position would ease the discomfort.

William wiggled onto his side as well and fit himself closely against him, clutching on to his night shirt as he settled into the pillows. Hamilton wrapped an arm around him and tried to fall back to sleep. Just as he was beginning to drift, William shifted, turning on to his back. The movement of the bed set his nausea off again, and he swallowed thickly. William tossed again, turning back on his side and bumping his bony knees into Hamilton’s aching midsection.

“William, honey, please,” he moaned, shifting away from the child. He saw William’s eyes blink open in the moonlight. “My belly is very, very sick. Do you think you can try to lie still for me?”

William nodded against him. “Sorry, Papa.”

“It’s all right. Good night, baby,” he whispered, rubbing the little boy's back gently.

“Night, Papa,” William whispered back. He lay very still beside him in the bed after that, clearly making an effort not to jostle his father further. Hamilton fell quickly back to sleep.

He woke again just before dawn, his stomach cramping abominably. Barely awake, he stumbled out of bed and down the stairs, outside to the privy. Though he knew it couldn’t possibly be true, in that moment he would have sworn it was the sickest he’d ever felt in his life. He stayed sitting even after he’d finished, worried he’d faint if he stood. Lights swam before his vision and his head spun with illness and exhaustion. He wished longingly for Eliza.

When he finally managed to drag himself inside, he could hear the staff downstairs preparing breakfast and readying for the day. He leaned against the doorjamb to the dining area and cleared his throat to get Mary’s attention as she laid their places for the morning meal. She looked up and visibly started at the sight of him.

“I need you to send Tom out for the doctor,” he requested. “Tell him to take my horse, and to ask Doctor Hosack to come as quickly as possible.”

Mary nodded, looking surprised and uncertain.

Task completed, he made his way back up the stairs and into his room. William was splayed out on his bed, sleeping soundly. He stumbled around the bed, pulling the curtains more securely closed against the threatening daylight and crawling back into the bed with a low moan.

“Papa?”

Alex’s face swam into focus before him. Hamilton blinked twice to clear the blurriness.

“Papa? It’s after nine. Is everything all right? You’ve never slept this late before.”

Hamilton forced a nod, then laid very still to wait for the world to stop spinning. “I’ll be all right,” he muttered. “Would you keep an eye on your siblings for me today, though? See that they attend to their studies? I don’t think I could set a foot out of bed.”

“Of course, Papa. Can I bring you anything?”

“No, thank you,” he refused. He reached out to cup a hand to the boy’s cheek, face still hovering close to his. “Try not to worry so much, my sweet boy. I just need rest.”

Alex squeezed his hand once and nodded. Hamilton let his hand flop back to the bed and closed his eyes once more.

“Mr. Hamilton?”

He started awake. The curtains were open, Alex was gone, and Hosack was hovering over him uncertainly. He turned his face into his pillows, trying to escape the blinding sunlight that felt like it was driving stakes into his head.

“Mr. Hamilton? I need you to speak to me. I need you to tell me what’s wrong,” Hosack demanded from above him.

“Close the curtains,” he mumbled into his pillows. “Too bright.”

“Ah,” was the doctor’s response. He heard the curtains sliding on their metal rails and was slightly impressed that the doctor had been able to make out the demand. “They’re closed, sir.”

Hamilton opened his eyes to face the doctor once more.

“I imagine a headache is one of your complaints, then?” Hosack asked with a hint of smile.

Hamilton grunted in the affirmative. “But, mostly, it’s my stomach. I was violently ill all night.”

“Violently ill?” Hosack repeated. “Vomiting?”

Hamilton nodded. “And looseness in the bowels. After being so ill, I found myself lightheaded, near to faint, and weak. I also believe I may be suffering from a slight fever.”

Hosack nodded, taking his wrist to feel his pulse. “I felt the fever when I first examined you,” he confirmed. “Are you still feeling nauseated? Or otherwise in need of relief?”

Hamilton considered. “My stomach is still very upset, but I don’t feel the urgent need to be ill at the moment.”

Hosack nodded again. “All right. I’m going to have one of your servants bring up a tea tray. I have some peppermint leaves for you to chew, and then we’ll have you try to drink some peppermint water. I’ll also give you a small dose of laudanum.”

Hamilton wrinkled his nose at that. He hated the fogginess the drug induced.

“I know,” Hosack consoled without him having to state an objection. “But it does wonders at halting diarrhea, and it will help you rest. I really must insist.”

He wouldn’t need help resting if only everyone would stop waking him up, he thought grumpily. “I place myself in your good hands, Doctor,” he said instead.

Hosack had Mary bring up a cup for the peppermint water and produced the promised peppermint leaves from his black bag at the foot of the bed. Hamilton could barely get his lips around the plant without retching. He bit down on the leaf and the strong taste flooded his mouth. One swallow had him spitting out the offending leaf and heaving dryly over the bed. Hosack patted his back, and called for a cool cloth. The doctor placed the damp rag over Hamilton’s forehead and eyes after he’d collapsed bonelessly back against the pillows. The cool fabric against his aching eyelids felt heavenly.

A few blissfully silent moments passed before Hosack removed the rag and urged him to sit up once more. When the doctor produced another peppermint leaf, he moaned out, “No.”

“I must insist, General.” Hosack’s voice was both kind and firm. Hamilton wondered bitterly if his use of the military title was meant to force him to follow orders.

Hamilton closed his eyes, considering for a moment. The peppermint water sounded less offensive than chewing the leaf. “I’ll try the water instead,” he decided.

Hosack agreed. He placed the leaf on the side table and began fussing with the bottle he’d produced from his bag earlier, pouring out the concoction into a tea cup. Hamilton felt his stomach turn again and suggested, “Perhaps having a basin to hand would be wise.”

“Of course,” Hosack said, not looking up from his preparation. When he’d finished, he turned, looking about the room before setting eyes on the small basin Betsey used to wash her face in the mornings. He brought it over, and handed it to Hamilton along with the tea mug. “There you are. But do try to keep it down. It will help the nausea if you can get it into your stomach.”

The first sip he tried, he spit out again. The following retch made his headache roar to life and the little specs of light reappeared in his vision. He took a deep fortifying breath and tried again without being pressed. This sip he swallowed. Several more deep breaths followed before he was sure his stomach wouldn’t reject the water again. He sipped again, suddenly fighting the urge to guzzle the drink down. Only when he’d felt the water sliding over his tongue did he realize how terribly thirsty he was.

“Slowly, sir,” Hosack advised, looking on approvingly. “Very good.”

The water was gone in the course of a few minutes. Hosack took the empty cup and then provided him the dose of laudanum he’d prescribed. Finally, Hamilton was permitted to lie back against the pillows. Hosack produced a new rag to lay over his eyes once more.

“Just rest,” Hosack whispered, patting his hand comfortingly.

He slept.


	3. Chapter 3

The dose of laudanum had been relatively light, but combined with his severe exhaustion, it served to keep him dead asleep for a long time. He swam towards consciousness once or twice. The vague memory of Hosack standing over him with a candle came to mind. Alex’s face, too, standing over him with wide eyes. The faint light of dawn was creeping through the space of the heavy bedroom curtains when he managed to force his eyes open once more.

His bladder was screaming for relief, so he weakly pushed aside the blankets and set his feet down on the chilly wood floor, stretching his arms over head as he took stock of his body. His head felt wooly and his muscles weak. He noted thankfully that his stomach seemed much improved. No nausea, no cramping, just a slight ache to his abdominal muscles from the exertion of vomiting so much the day before. The chamber pot seemed farther away than usual as he made his way towards it on shaky legs. Still, he made it under his own power, relieved himself, and slowly made his way back to bed.

The spot he’d been lying in was damp with sweat. He scooted over to the other side and laid back against the pillows with a sigh of relief. He’d have to bath later, he thought, suddenly taking note of the sticky residue of sweat lingering on his skin as well. The sweat was good, though, as it meant his fever must have broken in the night.

Unbelievably, he found he was still tired, despite sleeping for nearly twenty-four hours. He closed his eyes and let himself drift. The sounds of the house stirring floated into the room.

The tell-tale creak of his bedroom door had him cracking open one eye. A little face poked into the small crack, dark eyes landing on the bed immediately.

“William!” Alex’s voice carried through the open space of the door, an urgent whisper. “Come away from there! We mustn’t bother Papa while he’s ill.”

“But he’s been sleeping for ages,” William whined. “Maybe he’s cursed, like the princess in the story mother tells.”

“He isn’t cursed, he’s ill,” Alex retorted in a hissed whisper.

“But I miss him,” William replied plaintively.

Alex must have given up verbal arguments in favor of physical force, because William suddenly jerked away and the door closed with a sharp snap. Hamilton smiled to himself and drifted off once more.

Sometime later, the door creaked open again. Light clacking of heels on wood followed. He wrinkled his brow but didn’t open his eyes this time. He felt so tired, like he could go on sleeping forever. Maybe he was cursed, he considered with some amusement.

Someone sat on the bed, and a soft, cool palm smoothed over his brow. His eyes finally opened and felt his shoulders sag in relief at the sight of his darling wife beside him. Betsey smiled weakly down at him.

“I hear you’ve been extremely unwell while I’ve been away,” she cooed softly.

“Mm,” he hummed in agreement, before adding, “Missed you.” His voice was weak and cracking with disuse and strain, terrible even to his own ears.

“I missed you, too,” she assured him.

He swallowed and cleared his throat so he could speak properly. “How was your father?”

Eliza’s bright eyes dimmed with grief at the reminder of her trip. She shook her head. “He’s trying to be strong. But losing Mama….” She trailed off, looking at an unremarkable point on the far wall.

“I can’t even imagine,” Hamilton whispered. The thought of losing Betsey sent a shiver down his spine that had nothing to do with the fever he’d been fighting the past day.

Eliza sighed and looked back at him again. He could see her trying to recover her spirits. “Well, I’m glad to be home now. The children were beside themselves with worry over you.”

Hamilton forced a smile for her. “I feel much better now, just terribly fatigued. William was concerned I’ve been cursed like the princess in your stories. I must admit I’m beginning to wonder myself.”

Eliza’s face lit up with amusement. The light from the space in the curtains was falling on her just so, lighting her up all over, making her glow. Never had his pet name for her seemed more appropriate. Or he was simply still delirious, he thought, a silly, adoring smile stretching his lips.

“Then I’ve arrived home just in time. You know the only way to break the curse, surely?” Eliza asked.

He did, of course, but he shook his head as though he were puzzled.

In the silence, William’s voice carried in from the hall, “A kiss from your true love!” 

They both broke into laughter, grinning at each other. “Oh,” he said, as though this were a great revelation.

Eliza leaned down, her hands tangling in his hair, and pressed her sweet soft lips to his, kissing him chastely. He pressed up, trying to deepen it, to catch her full lower lip between his teeth, but she pulled away. “Is that better?”

“An unfailing cure-all, my angel,” he assured her.

Her fingers brushed his temples and ran down over his chest. She regarded him seriously for a moment, and directed, “Get some more rest, my love. You still look pale.”

He nodded and closed his eyes, savoring the feeling of her hands against his chest as she stayed seated at his side. He felt her move to stand some minutes later, and reached out to catch her wrist lightly.

“Hamilton,” she sighed, but she sat back down beside him.

He looked up at her. His lower lip jutted out into a pout that was only half joking. “Stay?” he asked.  

“I only just arrived. I need to freshen up, change out of these dusty traveling clothes, and see to the children.”

“But I’m ill,” he whined.

Eliza laughed, a beautiful musical sound that he adored. “Impossible is what you are,” she retorted. He kept his gaze steady on her. “All right, darling. Allow me to change and check on the children, and then I’ll come back up and sit with you for as long as you like.”

He let go of her wrist, noting with a proud smirk that she hadn’t actually given in to him at all. She’d managed to sound conciliatory while doing exactly what she’d intended in the first place. Most days, he thought she’d have made a better politician than him.

She pulled out a fresh gown and began to unfasten the travelling dress she’d worn for the stage coach. Halfway through disrobing, she glanced back at him. She lowered her voice to a whisper, conscious of their son who was likely still loitering just outside the bedroom door. “Are you watching me undress, Mr. Hamilton? That’s not very gentlemanly.”

“I married you first,” he said lightly.

She smirked at him. It wasn’t much of a show, honestly. She didn’t remove any more than her outer garments. Her stays and under petticoat remained on her, covered over by the fresh gown. When he saw her looking around her vanity, he felt a blush creep over his cheeks.

“Are you looking for your wash basin?”

“Yes,” she answered, glancing back at him. “Where is it?”

“I’m afraid I coopted it for another purpose,” he said vaguely. When her brow wrinkled in confusion, he explained, “I vomited in it.”

She hummed sympathetically. “My poor darling,” she cooed, coming closer to kiss him once more. “I’ll be back in a little while, all right?”

He nodded. As she was stepping to the door, he requested, “Could you have Mary start heating some water? I’d like a bath.”

“Of course.”

The moment the door opened, William bounded in. Eliza stepped back in surprise and the little boy sprinted for the bed. Within the blink if his eye, Hamilton found himself with an armful of five-year-old.

“William,” Eliza said sternly.

“Are you better yet, Papa?” William asked. His little fingers were clutching at his father’s shirt and he seemed to be attempting to burrow into Hamilton’s chest.

“Much better,” Hamilton assured. He held up a hand to stop Betsey from pulling William off of him. “I just need a little more rest.”

“I love you,” William declared fiercely.

Hamilton felt a tightness at the back of his throat that stopped him from responding. He squeezed the boy to him instead. He glanced up to see Eliza standing over them with an impossibly fond expression on her face.

After a moment, she leaned down and patted the boy on the back lightly. “All right, my darling boy, let’s let Papa have his rest, shall we?”

William clutched him tighter, then relented and pulled away. Hamilton pulled him back down to press a kiss against his brow. William squirmed away and jumped down from the bed, sprinting back out of the room as abruptly as he’d entered.

“I blame you for him,” Eliza said with a smile. “I was never so rambunctious as a child.”

“The tales I’ve heard would disagree,” he smirked.

Eliza gave him another fond look and directed, “Rest. I’ll send Mary up with the bathwater, and I’ll be back shortly.”

“Thank you.”

The door clicked closed behind her, leaving the room quiet. Listening to Eliza’s soothing voice carrying down the hall as she took charge of the children, he found some rest at last.

At least, until he heard his wife give an ear-piercing scream not five minutes later. He sat up and was about to climb out of bed when he heard her follow up the scream with a shout of “William!”

Ah, he thought with a little smile, there was snake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eliza makes everything better :) Hope you enjoyed!

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Feedback heartily appreciated!
> 
> Come follow me on tumblr at aswithasunbeam.tumblr.com


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